Supernatural - The Field Day
by Helix17
Summary: A bounce back in time to when the Winchester brothers are young, alone, and trying to get along. Their dad is away 'hunting', and Dean is attempting to teach Sam how to use a shotgun. Brotherly love is shown in various twig-throwing, name-calling ways. The Winchester way of life revealed in a new light.


Supernatural – The Field Day

'No, no, no,' Dean said impatiently, 'you're holding it all wrong.' Sam glared at his brother whilst fiddling about with the shotgun that Dean had prodded at him. 'If you want to take your face off,' he continued, 'by all means continue holding it that way!'

'I'm trying!' Sam protested, the gun being swung about hopelessly for a good aim.

Dean knew his brother was trying. He always tried, so hard, at everything. But whilst their dad was off on another of his hunting road trips, Dean was the only one to protect Sammy from all of the Demon's and monsters that were waiting out there...and from Sammy's horrible, horrible aim.

'Dah, give it here!' Dean snatched the gun from Sam, raising it high and precise below his chin before pulling the trigger to a deafening, echoing bang. He lowered the gun, admired his shot of a distant tree with his pouted grin, and turned to Sam smugly. 'See, that's how it's done,' he said. 'Not like this,' he flailed the gun to the sky, 'or like this,' he continued with it on his hip. 'You don't hold shotguns like you're carrying a woman's purse!'

'I said I was trying.' Sam gave his brother a growl of anger before marching off down the hill, somewhere in the fields of Wyoming.

'Sammy!' Dean yelled after him. When Sam continued stomping further away, Dean sighed dropping his head and muttering to himself before taking off after his little brother. 'Wow, Dean! Great shot!' he mumbled in a high pitched tone imitating his brother, 'Yes it was, Sammy!'

Dean could remember all the times where Sam was too young and innocent to ever truly know what was going on around them. Sam used to laugh at him in his little girly squeals whenever Dean came bounding into the motel bedroom, spatula in hand in spur of the moment, to search under the bed if Sam screamed he heard a noise, or if Sam said he saw a shadow. Dean remembered those times for how unprepared he had felt in that moment, unable to grab a gun for fear even a second longer could have ripped Sam away from him. He recalled the times – which were in the high hundreds – in which he realised everything was safe, only to scream at Sam for not running away or hiding. But it was only in those enraged moments, when Sam's eyes misted with tears and his lip began to quiver, that Dean realised he wasn't angry at all, just relieved and frightened both. 'I'm sorry,' Sam would say choking back tears, curling into a ball on his bed. Dean would shake his head, his eyes softening and his smile weakly returning as he moved to sit with his brother. 'Don't ever be sorry, Sammy. Just be safe.'

It was truly in those fearful moments that Dean acknowledged how much he loved his little brother, even when, Dean thought, he couldn't hit a blimp from ten feet away with a gun.

'Sam,' Dean called. 'Sammy, come back!' Sam ignored him, continuing his descent further down the hill at a steady, fast pace. Dean marched faster, scooping a large twig from the ground as he went on after his brother. 'Sam, stop right now or I swear to all the apple pie in the world I will bring you down!' When Sam ignored him once more, Dean lost it – and so forth went the twig slicing through the air until it plonked with a 'thud' on Sam's head.

'Ow!' Sam whined, rubbing his head and finally stopping. 'Dean, that wasn't funny!'

'That,' Dean said coming up beside him, 'was plenty funny. Fair warning too. Next time you listen to me.'

'Or what?' Sam challenged, anger lighting his eyes as he seethed.

'Or I call dad and tell him how idiotic you're being ignoring me and trying to get away.' Dean knew that was a petty ploy to get Sam to listen, but it always worked. Sam always told Dean how harsh and unfair their dad was being on him whenever he came back to seen them. He would always say that dad would tell him to 'Grow up, Sam. You need to be responsible and ready!', and never say anything that showed he cared about him at all. He always believed he had it rough. But what Sam never knew was that it was Dean who bore the brunt and anger from their dad. Whenever Sam called to tell Dean was being unreasonable, their dad yelled at Dean saying he was risking Sam's life. Whenever Dean called to say Sam was being unreasonable, their dad yelled at Dean some more. Dean could never win, not in the way he wanted to with their dad – making him proud, for once. So the threat of a call which brought fear to Sam was never really a punishment for him at all. It was a punishment for Dean. But it was one he would take if it meant Sam would just listen, and stay safe.

'Fine,' Sam sighed. He massaged his head once more before dropping his hand; his expression loosening from anger to defeat. 'I'm tired.'

'Let's go back to the room,' Dean said. He rustled Sam's hair, 'Get you some rest for tomorrow, so you can shoot some more clouds.' Dean chuckled proudly – Sam merely sarcastically laughed 'Funny.'

When they got back to the motel room, a few miles from the fields, Dean raided the vending machines with Sam for some candy and soda – Dean's way of saying sorry about the twig. 'Beats soup,' he whined to Sam's disproving expression at the junk food in his arms. Sam just shook his head, eyes rolling with a tired smile before entering the room.

Dean frowned, staring lovingly down to the pile of chocolate in his arms and then back to where Sam had disappeared into the room. 'Jeez,' he sighed, 's'like he would prefer salad. Moron.'

...Little did he know.


End file.
